The Backseat
by UnsuaveOffTheMattress
Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in the backseat.


Happy 2013! Here's something to start the year off feeling dirty, immoral, and slightly confused.

Xx

The Backseat

With fast, shallow breaths and shaking, cold hands he lays across the backseat, leaning against the door and legs between those of his brother. "Sam," he breathes, the lower half of his abdomen shaking. "Sam, stop."  
"I can't stop." Sam returns breathily. "You don't want me to stop."  
Dean throws his right hand against the back of the seat and the left on Sam's. "Stop." He demands, his voice breaking as he tries to be assertive. "Please stop," his hands fall, and his breaths slow. He's starting to get used to the obscure and awkward feeling, but it's happening very slowly, and he knows he'll never be fully comfortable with it.  
"You'll be okay," Sam reassures, pulling Dean closer to him. "Trust me, you'll be fine."  
He shakily exhales and drapes his arm over his eyes.  
"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, okay?"  
"Yeah," his breath hitches as Sam puts more pressure between his hipbones. "Okay,"  
He pushes down a little harder, and Dean breathes in sharply. "Shh," Sam whispers. "It's okay."  
Dean whimpers desperately. "Sam,"  
"Shh," he repeats. "Just let me-"  
"Sam!" Dean's in pieces, pushed far beyond his threshold. "Sam, stop!"  
Sam leans down, running his fingers through Dean's hair as he gets real close. "It's okay," he whispers. "Just relax."  
He shakes his head. "I don't wanna do this."  
"Yes you do."  
"Sam-"  
He sits straight up and takes all the pressure off of Dean. "Just lie here a little, okay?"  
His entire body shakes, his cheeks flushed and his skin sticky with perspiration. His breaths barely permit any air, too shallow to do much.  
Sam takes one of his hands, finding it freezing. "It hurts," he says. "Doesn't it?"  
He nods in return, squeezing his brother's hand tight.  
"I'll get it out soon." Sam looks back down at Dean's waistline. "Don't worry."  
He pulls his hand back and puts it over his face, the other gripping his shirt tight. "Why are we doing this?" Dean asks. "Why in my car? Why not in a bed or on the floor or something?"  
"Because you said you wanted it now."  
"Well not now," he puts his hand down. "Let's just drive back and finish this at the motel, it'll be fine."  
Sam shakes his head. "It isn't that easy."  
"Why?"  
"Because you've already lost a lot of blood, and if you wait you could get into a tight situation."  
Dean pauses, states at him for a second. "You know all about that, don't you?"  
"Yeah," Sam pushes his brother's knees back down onto the seat. "Now hold still."

Pale orange streaks pour in through the mostly closed blinds, accentuating the swelling and bruises on this sore and exposed figure lying half under the sheets. He's left with flushed cheeks and sticky skin from the night before, not to mention a sea of contusions and a backseat covered in blood and sweat. It's all a little hazy, the adrenaline having him too hyped up for those few hours to make anything out fully. The only clear things were his brother's hands, and how they felt against extremely sensitive skin. The feeling is still there faintly, and remains bittersweet, having been the absolute best feeling imaginable while being a near unbearable nightmare. It's more bad than good, considering how horrendous it hurt then, and hurts now.  
The door stridently opens, and his vision is blurred as he looks up to a plastic bag and a sweet, slightly taunting, "good morning."  
Dean rubs his eyes and feels a little less tired after seeing the way Sam smiles at him. "Hey," his voice is faded, and his brother laughs.  
"Too much screaming, huh?"  
"Shut up," he starts to sit up, only to bail out and lie back down a miserable and awkward mess. Dean groans slightly, his hands retreating back to his eyes. "What'd you do to me?" He asks.  
Sam climbs slyly up onto the mattress and pulls the sheets down. "Exactly what you asked me to."  
Defensively, Dean puts his hands down where his brother's drift.  
"What?" Sam asks. "Can't I see?"  
"No," he abruptly returns. "Are you insane?"  
A smile creeps about Sam's expression. "Maybe," he says. "But that's not the point." He takes a gentle hold of his brother's shorts and delicately starts to inch them down. "Point is, I did it, so let me see it."  
Dean puts his hands over his eyes in attempt to keep himself under control.  
"Oh," he says it sympathetically, his hands gently pulling back layers of gauze.  
"How bad is it?" Dean asks.  
Sam pauses. "Bad,"  
"Yeah, but-"  
"Like, maybe ER bad."  
"No," There's a slight panic to his voice as he drops his hands. "No, I'm not going to the ER for this."  
"Dean-"  
"No," he argues. "What would I tell them?"  
Sam shrugs. "The truth, I guess."  
Dean pauses. "Really?"  
"Yeah," Sam pulls his shorts back up and puts the blankets over top of him. "It's not that weird, I'm sure they've heard it before."  
He doesn't answer, his expression of shock and disgust saying enough.  
"Dean," he smiles, pulling his brother to sit up. "It's not like this is a new thing for you."  
He shakes his head slightly.  
"I mean, you've gotten shot a million times. No big deal, right?"  
He takes a better hold of his brother's hand to steady himself. "It is a big deal."  
"Why?"  
"Because," he awkwardly pauses. "It's...there."  
"I know," Sam forces his hands back. "Who do you think got the bullet out?"  
He nods. "I'm sorry,"  
"It's fine," Sam pushes himself to stand, finding all the bloody towels still on the washroom floor. "It was just really..." He trails off, trying not to think about it.  
"Personal?" Dean suggests. "Trust me, I know." He pulls back the sheets, surprised to find that they've barely moved overnight. His entire body shakes as waves of pain come over him, all from the same source—a shot wound just between his hipbones. "I know."  
Sam keeps his focus on the washroom, remembering how just a few hours ago they were both collapsed on the floor trying to get the bullet out. Red covered skin, tile, and terricloth, and as he repeatedly pulled his brother to sit up, he wondered just how bad it hurt, because every time he pulled him to sit up, a little more stomach acid came up, and a little more tension settled. A little more fear washed over them, and a little more empathy came to every time Sam pulled his brother to sit up.  
"But that's nothing new either, right?"  
Sam's attentions snaps from the sticky linoleum, and like a deer in headlights he looks back at his brother. "What?" Sam asks.  
Dean smiles sweetly in return, his eyes graced with an odd touch of zeal, an odd little tease. "You know what I mean."  
"No," Sam takes a hold of the plastic bag he'd placed at his brother's feet when he came in and starts to leaf through it, eventually pulling out a near ridiculous plastic bottle of over the counter pain killers. "I don't, but take these,"  
Dean takes the bottle as Sam hands it to him, knowing then that if it ever leaves his hands, it will be involuntary.  
"They're your new best friend."  
He nods slightly, but only slightly seeing as there's still a tiny part of him that wants to act tough, brush it off like there's nothing wrong, like he's not terrified of moving. "Thanks."  
"Don't mention it." Sam pulls him to his feet, holding his wrists tight as a heavy gasp emits. "Now get to know each other." He pushes Dean towards the washroom, towards the heap of bloody towels. "The shower misses you."  
"Sammy," his voice shakes desperately as he tries to argue, as do his legs as he tries to keep steady. "Sammy, I can't do this."  
Sam smiles. "Why not?"  
Dean gives him an overly dramatic and beyond pathetic, "it hurts."  
"C'mere," Sam pulls him gently and leans him back against the sink, keeping half a hand on Dean's bare chest as he switches on the shower.  
"Sam," he whines.  
"I know," Sam tugs his brother's shorts down, making him inhale sharply. "I fucked up, my hands slipped, I know."  
Dean nods, biting down hard on his lower lip. "If you ever point a gun near me again, I swear."  
"You'll kill me, right?"  
"No," through slightly blurred vision, he sees Sam stripping down. "I'll shoot you in the-"  
"Fine," his fingertips brush gently against the stubble on Dean's chin. "But before you make any promises, let me try and make it up to you."  
He flinches slightly as warm water pours down onto him. "Sam-"  
"Shh," Sam's hand hold him gently against the wall. "Just let me help you."  
Xx

I wish I could put into words how much fun this was to write. It's ridiculous.


End file.
